Memories
by Cahaya Nightdreamer
Summary: He remembered the former splendour of the place, the former grandeur…one that no one else probably remembered. One-shot.


Disclaimer: I do not own Amazing Grace or Sherlock.

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**AN: Giving this a shot…since I find it interesting that there hasn't been a crossover between the two…or at least ones that I know off…Hope you like...**

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Before the modern times, when phones became near necessities, and people ushered in the age of technology, he remembers it all.

He remembered a time when houses were large, bigger than anything that no one could imagine.

He remembered a time when the sound of traffic outside was replaced by the sound of horses and carriages rattling to and fro.

Now, no one would appreciate the beauty of the past.

No one, but him.

He remembered being best friends with William Wilberforce, helping abolish the Slave Trade in Britain, having Charles Fox as an enemy, even running around and complaining how they could only feel the thorns sticking into his feet when they stop running, and his best friend laughing along beside him.

He remained unmarried, and was what some would call unsociable, but, in truth, anyone that he met would have said that he was a well-mannered and polite man.

But the thing that he enjoyed and remembered most vividly was when he was first introduced into Parliament, and began to take part in the debates that happened. Wilberforce had started by trying to end the Slave Trade, urged on by a friend, John Newton, and he himself had decided to help, though he couldn't appear too biased.

Then, when the Prime Minister started dying, he waited to the second one to suffer and resign, before making his move.

By then, he already had had a lot of powerful allies in Parliament, not including Charles Fox, who slowly started to try and move over to his side. Naturally, he became distrustful of the man who had supposedly decided that he was a rival to the power of the British government.

Then, he became the youngest Prime Minister of Britain.

He had celebrated with Wilber that day, drinking brandy and generally discussing what differences they would try to make in Parliament, before finally falling asleep.

Then, he had remembered when Charles Fox had sourly looked at him, before masking it with his usual look of seriousness. And he had remembered the life that had been mentally demanding and exhausting yet it was all worth it and he enjoyed every second of the thrill of the mental simulation that it gave him.

He remembered the building of Parliament as it had been, with the golden high arcs, ceilings, and pillars, and the crowded seats, which everyone wanted to fight to get a good one. He remembered the ridiculously obese man that had been the Speaker of the Assembly, trying to calm everyone, the murmurings of each speaker as they tried to get his attention, and both he and Wilber, at first, giving each other silent amused glances at the behaviour of some MPs.

He remembered the plan presented to him about ending the Slave Trade: Ingenious. Even _he_ couldn't figure it out. And when they had said 'boring', the first name had already slipped into his mind.

He remembered the votes to end the Slave Trade memorably, remembering the astonished looks of the signatures, the shock of Fox's actions, the worried glances of all Clarkson, Equiano and Wilber as another Speaker tried to butt in, before being coldly dismissed.

The applause after the bill was signed was tremendous. All the effort had not gone to waste. Yet, Wilber continued to push on, the small victory not yet enough now that he had seen what slaves suffered compared to the lives of themselves. And not only that, but his own illness hit him, (probably form the brandy, his doctors whisper, afraid to tell him) watching while his friend succeeding, while he started fading.

Eventually, he had called Wilber, told him the news, and died the same month, certain that Wilber would succeed.

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**WILLIAM SHERLOCK SCOTT HOLMES **(Secretly born as William Sherlock Scott Pitt) looked around, paying an unnatural fascination to the conversation that was happening around him. After William Pitt's secret affair (well, it couldn't be considered an affair…), he, Sherlock Holmes, had become the bastard child of the grandchild of William Pitt the Younger.

"Sherlock!" John called, and Sherlock turned.

"Hm?" He asked, still lost in memory. For some reason, according to his mother, whenever he went into William Pitt's memories and forwards, like the other kin of William Pitt the Younger, they tended not to pay attention. Apparently, from what he had learnt from the memories of the other kin and William Pitt, each possessed the ability to do so from William himself.

It was a complicated business only he and his mother knew about.

Mycroft tutted. "You do not pay attention in class yet have the most attention of detail about William Pitt the Younger? You ought to be ashamed."

Sherlock huffed something that sounded suspiciously like "So should you, fatty".

As the group exited (how had they managed to convince him to going?…oh wait. That was mummy.) the old building, Sherlock eyed the building one last time, letting the memories of William Pitt wash over him…

He could still remember the splendour, the grandeur of the place. Of the British Parliament.

He remembered everything.


End file.
